


the race

by deadlybride



Series: zmediaoutlet [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Bets & Wagers, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Sam and Dean make a stupid bet, but they're both determined to win.





	the race

They’re sprawled on their sides on Dean’s bed, and Dean’s stripped down to his socks but Sam’s still got his jeans tangled around his knees, his t-shirt still on and pushed up to his armpits, and the memory foam is doing its worst, trapping their heat together and rebounding it up into them, so Sam’s just dripping with sweat, slick all down his back and in his pits and dampening the hair at his temples—but who cares, oh  _christ_  what does it matter right now, with his mouth wrapped around Dean’s dick and Dean’s mouth coaxing and wet and  _perfect_  around his. 

Still. He pulls back, slurping suck and a slow deliberate tongue over the head—Dean shivers, blood-hot skin pressing close against him—and Sam presses a kiss against the slick wet shaft and says, “I’m totally going to win.”

Dean pulls off of Sam’s dick to respond—and the abrupt cold air is awful, makes Sam wish he hadn’t said anything, but then Dean pushes Sam’s knee back, looks over the upside-down curl of Sam’s torso, his lips red and wet in the shadow they’re making between them. “No way,” he says, voice all hoarse, and Sam’s dick throbs just at the implication. “I’ve got this in the bag.”

Sam props himself up on one elbow, says, “Is that right.” Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam wraps a hand around Dean’s dick, a warm grasping pull that makes Dean’s eyelids flutter, and then pushes down, slicks his hot palm over the pulled-up pretty sac of his balls and burrows his fingers deep between Dean’s thighs, makes him pop his leg up and groan as Sam rubs.

“I think that’s cheating,” Dean says.

Sam shrugs one-shouldered, leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s damp hip. “You’re the one who didn’t set any restrictions on the bet,” Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and hitches his hips closer into Sam’s touch and then he leans in and sucks Sam in with a wet slick of tongue, pushing down and down until Sam can feel himself threatening the pit of his throat, and oh—oh  _fuck_ , there’s a flex as Dean almost gags but swallows it down, and he can’t quite make it to the base but fuck,  _fuck_  that feels good, and then—then oh, more,  _more_ , and he pushes one finger only barely slicked into Dean’s body, crushes his thumb against thick muscle of his taint and slurps in Dean’s dick, fills his mouth with the warm salt-bitter taste of him. They neither of them have much leverage to thrust, but Sam claps a hand to Dean’s bare ass and drags him in anyway, screws his lips down to the base and breathes in his smell, the thick weight of him setting Sam’s jaw to aching. Below, Dean’s running a restless thumb over and over Sam’s nuts and his tongue’s working ceaselessly, a slick drag that makes Sam want to screw the bet, makes him want to hump forward into his throat and fuck. And—oh, yeah, that’ll do it—he grabs Dean by the hips, pulls off just enough to say, “Hold on,” breathless, and Dean pulls back enough to say  _what_  but then Sam rolls, ducks his head under and drags Dean over the top of him and Dean has to scramble, hands skidding on the sheet, but then he’s on his knees straddling Sam’s head and Sam only has to crane his neck up a little to get that dick back in his mouth, and Dean says on a thin breath, “for fuck’s sake, Sammy, christ,” and he puts his mouth on Sam again, sinks down to the base and starts bobbing his head with his elbows braced on either side of Sam’s hips, really trying to work, and it feels  _incredible_ , god, Sam could do this forever—but he’s going to win, goddamn it, and so he slips in two fingers alongside Dean’s dick and gets them wet with spit and drippy precome and then reaches up around Dean’s hip and burrows them right into Dean’s ass, the stretch too quick and rough, and it makes Dean’s hips jerk, and then Sam gets his hip in a sweaty grip and yanks him down, and again, makes him fuck into where Sam’s open and swallowing and choking around him, and he curls his fingers in harsh and tight and then Dean yanks his head up and nearly shouts  _fuck_  and then—he’s coming, into the pit of Sam’s throat, and Sam swallows twice and then pulls back, gasping for breath, almost dizzy, jerks Dean haphazardly so he finishes all over his chin and throat and chest, and it’s so hot that all Dean has to do is keep his hand loosely curled around Sam’s own straining dick and Sam jerks his hips up, says, “Dean, please—come on, come on,” and Dean slides his cheek up Sam’s dick and rubs his lips over the slit and then opens enough for Sam to fuck up into his mouth, just once, and Sam snaps a hand down and follows the wet trail of Dean’s mouth with his fist and comes like that, his heels dug into the stupid soft mattress, and Dean breathes with his mouth loose around Sam, lets him gush up into Dean’s warmth, and it’s only slowly that he finally pulls off, and away, and after a gasping moment Sam helps roll him off and over, so they’re laying crosswise side-by-side on the bed, Sam’s arm pressed up close against Dean’s thigh and sweat starting up slick between them.

After a minute, Sam drags up onto his elbows, enough that he can see Dean’s face where he’s slumped against the single pillow. “So,” he says.

Dean groans. “Don’t say it.” He’s still flushed dark pink, his mouth puffed-wet.

Sam sits up fully, drags off his t-shirt and wipes come off his face and throat, and when Dean finally opens his eyes Sam grins at him and drops the shirt on his chest. “I totally owned your ass,” he says, and Dean rolls his eyes. “What’s your forfeit, again?”

“I’m eating zucchini salad for breakfast every day for a week,” Dean says, sing-song sarcastic. “What kind of lunatic names  _that_  as his terms in a bet, anyway.”

Sam kicks off the tangle of his jeans and then crawls over the bed, knees Dean’s thighs open and settles down warm between them. Dean spreads his legs, inviting, but the look on his face is still sort of surly. “The kind that can suck your brain out your dick,” Sam says, and he probably sounds all kinds of smug but he thinks he’s earned it. Dean rolls his eyes, but he catches Sam’s hips anyway, holds him warm and close, their spent dicks catching sticky-wet against each other, sweet enough to make Sam’s balls clutch, wanting more. He grinds idly forward, hands planted on either side of Dean’s shoulders, grins down. “Anyway,” he says, “my forfeit was going to be even stupider. I had an incentive.”

“Watching all the Star Trek movies is  _not_ stupid,” Dean says, brows drawing tight, and Sam rolls his eyes and says, “Whatever, Trekkie, enjoy your vitamins A and C,” and leans down and catches Dean’s mouth mid-scoff. Dean sighs against his lips, irritated, but kisses back. Sam smiles and tongues in where Dean’s soft, and salt-bitter, and tender-lipped, and used. Dean slides a hand up his side, one socked foot rubbing over the back of Sam’s calf. Sam doesn’t even mind the Trek movies, really—it’s just the principle of the thing. He’ll have to see how many zucchini he can get from the market in town, he thinks, and drags his lips over Dean’s stubbly jaw. He hopes he can get a picture of Dean’s face when he’s faced with a grocery bag full, tomorrow morning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> from an anonymous prompt, asking me to write a porn ficlet that somehow involved zucchini.
> 
> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](http://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/167988606854/still-looking-for-random-anon-things-write-a-porn)


End file.
